


Don't Bite

by badteeth



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Vampires, Washington Capitals, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-07-20 12:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badteeth/pseuds/badteeth
Summary: It’s a bare few days after the new moon when Braden finds an intruder in his woods.





	Don't Bite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenurr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenurr/gifts).



> Hi greenurr, happy hockey season, hope you enjoy!

It’s a bare few days after the new moon when Braden finds an intruder in his woods.

He’s running alone, agitated in the dim light filtering through the canopy, when a bitter, metallic scent drifts through the trees. Braden freezes, raises his head, and inhales sharply. Concrete thoughts are hard to pull together as a wolf, but this scent is easy to parse. _A threat._

His legs burst from beneath him, head low and ears back, letting his nose guide him near to where the main road leading into town runs through his territory. From there, it’s not even hiding. A tall figure is wandering slowly down the side of the road, completely apathetic that it’s in Braden’s territory, the fucking nerve. His blood burns hotter as he closes the gap between them.

Only a lifetime of discipline forces him to change before tackling the thing—a him, almost certainly a him, from up close—and it feels justified when he crumples to the ground under Braden’s weight. As the haze of the hunt fades away, his senses settle back in, and it becomes obvious that whatever this is, he’s young. Fear flares bright in Braden’s sinuses but he doesn’t put up a fight, just stares up with wide, dark eyes.

Braden almost just wants to send him off, but a creature of darkness, trespassing this close to the new moon—

He sighs.

 

Andre is a vampire aligned with the Washington coven. He is twenty-three and from Sweden, but has lived in the States for several years now. He still doesn’t have his driver’s license, and that is why he was walking through the territory. He did not do so with any intent to cause harm.

Andre is very forthcoming with this information once he’s convinced Braden isn’t going to kill him, and Braden is convinced he’s more or less telling the truth.

It would be so, so easy to just let him go.

 

The sun rises. Braden hasn’t slept, but it’s a welcome pause on the clock.

Things have been peaceful recently. It takes a little to dig up the contact information, but the pack files have emails, phone numbers, old articles. He lingers over them for a moment before letting the breath leave his chest and opening his laptop. It reminds him of emailing old employers, his parents, painfully formal with an undercurrent of dread. He rereads it seven times before pressing send and praying that it hit the right tone between firm and deescalating.

Braden leans back, sighs, rubs hard at his eyes—dry enough that it’s probably time to switch to glasses—and jolts when his phone almost immediately buzzes.

His phone doesn’t recognize the number but it’s still fresh in his mind. The text reads: **We will be there an hour and fifteen minutes after sundown**

He responds: _How many?_

The three-dotted typing window stops and starts three times before the response is sent: **Two**

Braden hesitates. It feels like too many in his forest, more than there has been in a decade, but realistically, it’s a reasonable number. Manageable. It’s summer, and sunset won’t be for another fourteen hours. That’s enough time to sleep for a little while. Maybe five hours.

  


Brooks doesn’t happy about the plan, or anything about it, but as much was to be expected. He’ll go along with it, out of respect if nothing else, but he still did the sort of arguing that makes it why he’s usually the second beta Braden goes to for this stuff.

But Andre had been picked up only a few blocks away from the Carlsons, and Rudy is still so young—it might have been a mistake for Braden to have left this conversation as long as he did. The bitter scent of old blood is still clinging to the air as he drives by where Andre had been. Fuck, it might even be _worse_ closer to the house. Braden drums his fingers against his steering wheel in an even beat, breathing through his mouth. Be the calm you want to see in your pack.

The Carlson house has the same sort of almost tangible brightness all young families do. Without even trying, Braden can hear Lucca bubbling around the kitchen, Gina cooing over Rudy, John cooking. When he lets himself through the front door, it’s to a chorus of welcome and a small, blonde furball diving at his feet and chewing at his shoelaces before Braden swipes him up in one big hand.

“Hey, buddy, wasn’t expecting you this morning,” John says from the stovetop, something greasy and bright cooking in a pan.

Braden makes a noncommittal noise and says, as casually as he can, “Yeah, just had something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Because it’s Braden, it doesn’t come out very casually at all, and John and Gina immediately exchange looks that Braden has only barely come to parse second-hand after years of knowing them both, together.

“Maybe I’ll take the boys out in the yard and they can work out their zoomies,” Gina announces. Braden protests and only gets them all through breakfast before it’s just him and John, sitting at the kitchen table.

He tries to make small talk, but John just looks at him, so Braden sighs and says, “I found a vampire in our territory last night. On Park.”

He’s ready for an escalation, prickled nerves to be soothed with guarantees that it was a good kid, that it won’t happen again, they’re meeting tonight to return him to his class and Braden needs John to _steady_ for this to go well—

Instead, John barely twitches. “Alright. So… what’d you do with this vampire?”

He’s trying really hard to sound casual, but unfortunately, Braden has known John for as long as John as known Braden, and bells are ringing. Not necessarily alarm bells, but certainly something.

“I put him up in safehouse,” Braden answers, because it’s the truth.

“The safehouse-safehouse or the jail-safehouse?” John asks, and before Braden can answer he continues, “The jail-safehouse, right, the one with anti-vampire technology and won’t compromise the safety of the pack, of course.”

If Braden had thought something sounded off before, he’s certain of it now, even if he can’t pinpoint the _why_. John’s hands are fidgeting, twisting around his coffee mug and pushing at the edges of his kitchen table, while voice thins out, threatening to crack.

Braden leans back from the table, and very carefully doesn’t put anything into his voice when he says, “John.”

John takes a deep breath in, then exhales with his whole body. “Can we go see him?”

Questions are buzzing behind his eyes like a shaken can of soda—something is happening here, something in his pack that he doesn’t know about—but the one he goes with is, with the light of the morning streaming in through the wide bay window they’re sitting in front of, where they can see that Gina is playing fetch with Lucca—both adorable and demeaning of the species—and asks, “Would he even be awake right now?”

“Probably,” John says.

  


Compared to the sprawling acres Braden grew up in, his territory now is miniscule. Better than the wolves who have truly urbanized and have had to shrink down to fit into city blocks, but him and John still do not have that long in the truck before they reach the safehouse.

“So,” Braden starts once they’ve started down the driveway. “Do you feel like telling me what’s going on yet?”

John sighs, long and hard, but he still answers. “I know the vampire.”

“Mhm.”

John sighs again. “I’ve kinda been seeing him. Me and Gina have.”

 _“Mhm.”_ Multiple partners aren’t exactly uncommon among werewolves. The third being from outside the pack is less common. Them being a _vampire—_ “And how long were you going to wait to tell me this?”

Really, Braden’s trying to be reasonable and fair about this, but something must not land, because John throws his head back and laugh. “Isn’t fraternization still, like, super illegal?”

“Well, luckily we’re having a little parley with the vampires—which you’re coming to, by the way—so maybe we can get that off the books, too, while we’re at it,” Braden says, and then because he can’t help himself, “I love going into parleys with only partial information.”

“Are you mad?”

“I am not mad,” Braden says. He stops at a stop sign, waves the other car by, and then waves again, harder, when it turns out to be pack, trying to bring dynamics into a simple traffic situation.

“You’re mad,” John says. “You’re like that person in high school who always got mad when they’re the last to hear the gossip.”

“I am mad because someone in my pack, a _leader_ in my pack, decided they didn’t entrust me with this sort of information, and now it’s turned into a whole fucking hostage negotiation scene for no reason when we could have just initiated this conversation whoever long ago like two civilized factions,” Barden says, feeling his voice going sharp and now quite caring to reign it in, not in the privacy of his own vehicle. And then— _“Am_ I the last to know?”

“No,” John says, and he doesn’t seem to be laughing anymore. “I mean, we haven’t told anyone. It’s still fairly new, in terms of, you know, introducing anyone to the pack and having everyone in their business for the rest of forever. The vampires probably know. I haven’t met them or anything, but Andre’s still pretty young, even by human standards, almost, and they’re—protective, I guess.”

“Great.” The plan keeps rearranging in his mind, priorities shifting, but the air feels less congested with everything out in the open and a clearer finish line on the horizon. Braden still has no idea what to expect from the vampires, but if they were still as bad the records depicted, things probably would have gone south quicker than this.

Probably.

  


Andre is still awake, watching TV in the dark, when Braden returns. He perks up immediately when he sees John over his shoulder.

Seeing Andre and John interact is—interesting.

Even before, Braden could feel the buzzing energy coming off Andre, but it’s even more obvious around John, how easily they reach out for each other, the familiarity even as John says, “I could have just driven you home, this whole time—”

“Alright, well,” Braden interrupts. “You seem to have a handle on the situation. If you want to… go home, or whatever, that’s fine. Just be at my house by 9:45.”

  


The vampires are not what Braden had expected. He’d worked on not having any expectations beyond a vague sense of progression, but still—

Like Andre, neither of them sound like they’re from North America, but neither bothers to explain further. One of them is almost definitely human, or at least mostly human. It strikes Braden as soon as he answers the knock to his door and sees a large—larger than Braden—man, graying but radiating power, shadowed by another, smaller man, tight-mouthed and eyes that could pin you.

Now, Braden isn’t one to be intimidated. He trusts Brooks at his back, even though he can still feel his lingering distrust, but having these two strangers walk through his door still feels like a thrumming shock, a broken seal.

Braden had heard of familiars before, but he hadn’t imagined them like this, so intertwined that Braden can only barely pick up their individual scents, and even then they twist around like a maze settled into a corner of Braden’s home, far enough in to seem confident, but Braden had seen their eyes dart when they first walked in. Escape routes is probably the safest guess.

It’s 9:48. Lucky traffic. Anxiety prickles at the back of Braden’s neck, although he doesn’t let it show. It’s not late enough to do anything about it. This is, ultimately, not a formal meeting. Alex, as he’d introduced himself, is talking up Brooks on dogs, travel, history, anything to get more than a monosyllabic response with some amount of success, while the copper-haired man—Nicklas—is on his phone, slouched with a practiced, wide spread. He could easily be in contact with Andre, and Andre could just as easily be in contact with him.

Braden can’t quite look away. For all Alex is working to dominate the conversation, it’s Nicklas who puts Braden on edge. He doesn’t even not trust the guy, for all he can trust a stranger who’s also an agent of a people his own species has had a centuries-long cold war with, but—

Nicklas leads straight up his chair, but still sounds relaxed when he asks, “So, you make a habit of kidnapping children around these parts?”

Brooks cuts off in the middle of his sentence, and Braden feels the tension spike before he responds, blandly, “I wouldn’t exactly call a twenty-three year old a child. Plus however long. What, exactly, do you do when someone who shouldn’t be there wanders into your territory?”

It makes Nicklas snort, and he smiles, sharp and wide enough to look purposeful.

Vampire fangs, as it turns out, look more or less like what you’d expect. Obvious, but not as grotesque as the old files had had Braden half-expecting.

“Clearly you have never lived with Andre. For years, he just lived in my guest room, couch-hopped with friends. Finally, he get his own apartment, _I_ have to build all the furniture, and what does he do? Run into the forest,” Nicklas says, and the contempt sounds familiar, warm. Braden thinks he gets what John was talking about earlier.

“There are worse places,” Braden says, testing.

Nicklas hums in response, but before Braden can press harder or find something else to keep Nicklas talking, he hears a familiar rumble pull onto his driveway. Nicklas notices just as quick, and his cool flickers for a moment in how quickly he turns his head. Brooks then Alex notice the same, and the room falls quiet.

The tension leaves Braden before he even has to consciously dismiss it. He can hear John complaining about the time, Andre laughing him off, their easy stroll up to his front door, the half-knock at his door before John lets them both in, looking a little frazzled and smiling. Nicklas is on his feet almost immediately, and Braden follows on instinct, but it fizzles into Nicke wrapping a hand around the side of Andre’s neck and shaking, like you would an overgrown puppy. The look on Andre’s face stays the same. Nicklas asks something, presumably in Swedish, and Andre just shrug. His response makes Nicklas roll his eyes and drop his hand.

“Sorry about the time,” John says, moving further into the room. “The kids are always harder to put to bed when Andre’s around.”

“Sure,” Braden says, and John slides by him, bumping into Brooks, barely even a conscious thing, before sliding down onto the couch. If Braden focuses, maybe he can smell Andre on him, but it’s not as prominent as it would be if it was another wolf, or even a human, which makes Braden feel a little better for not noticing before.

“So,” Alex says, almost shocking loud, boisterous. “You’re the infamous Johnny boy!”

“Oh, god,” John responds, sliding further down the couch, and Brooks snorts. Alex is leaning forward anticipatory, and Braden almost wants to lean in, too, the look on John’s face—how much he deserves it—but he leans back, against the doorframe. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Nicklas trailing his fingers over Andre, quick and thorough, down his arm, over his hands—

“Hey,” Nicklas snaps, fingers turning over Andre’s hand, holding it up, displaying the glossy pinkness of his fingertips. “What the fuck is this?”

Instantly, the air in the room contracts. Braden feels John and Brooks tense behind him, and he imagines Alex is the same (mostly human as he is, and, god, wasn’t that a sign of good faith.) Andre’s hands barely look singed, but the look on Nicklas’ face makes it clear how little that matters, and Braden knows without another word being said how sensitive this moment must be.

“I told him not to touch the windows,” Braden says, as evenly as he can. “We had protection runes put in on all of our sensitive locations.”

“There’s a witch doing anti-vampire magic here?” Nicklas demands, louder, and Braden swears he’s almost flushing with anger.

“It’s a general spell. She’s just really good at her job. You can call her yourself, get that fixed up if it isn’t gone by the morning—she’s a neutral party.”

“Nicky, relax, it’s fine. Barely even hurts. And he did warn me, I just, you know,” Andre says, shrugging, either oblivious or as dedicated to not causing a scene as he was this morning. Fuck, that feels so long ago now.

Nicklas looks at Andre for a long moment, then looks at Braden, so hard that he can practically feel it, but when Nicklas says, “What’s her name?” it’s with a tone that let’s Braden exhale.

“Isabelle. Ask a raven, they’ll set you up,” Braden says.

“I thought it was a crow?” John says, with the same forced ease as Andre, although a little more obvious.

“Most corvids will get the job done, if they feel like it,” Braden allows.

Nicklas still takes a long moment to consider them all, before saying, “Alright, well, this went about as well as anyone could have hoped. We should probably get back into the city—”

“You don’t have to,” Braden says, and then, “I mean, it wasn’t a short drive. If you want to hang around awhile, stretch your legs, you’re more than welcome.

Nicklas is looking behind Braden, at Alex, feels caught between them as Nicklas says, “Yeah, alright. Sure.”

Braden’s parents had been much more traditional in the way they led their pack, but they were right about one thing—never be too forward with what you want. Nicklas—Nicky—and Alex and Andre all made it an easy night, even Brooks warming up by the end, everyone watching John and Andre out of the corner of their eye, them knowing, sharing looks with Nicky across the pool table. It was a fun night. It made it easy to say, by the end, “Listen, I know you know the law of the land as well as anyone. And I don’t think those laws reflect anyone’s best interests at this point.”

This time, it’s Alex who responds, “So, you’re looking for a truce? A peace treaty?”

Braden rolls his shoulders. “Whatever your camp is willing to do. This is the first meeting in, what, forty-two years? And look at us. Perfectly civil. I don’t see why the books shouldn’t reflect that.”

“But my poor fingers,” Andre says. He’s on the floor, leaning against John’s leg, cleaning Brooks out of the last chips left in the game outside of Andre’s control. It was probably a bad idea to start a game so late in the day, when the nocturnal people in the room are just getting started.

“Shut up, Andre,” Nicky responds, and to Braden he says, gaze as intent as it’d been all night, “It can’t be this easy.”

“Alright. So we’ll work on it,” Braden says, staring straight back.

“Alright,” Nicky echos.

 

v-v-v

 

The number of vampire interactions Braden has increases exponentially from then, not that it’s a particularly lofty accomplishment to begin with.

Now that the Carlsons aren’t trying squirrel Andre away, he’s around a lot more, spends nights that leave him in the house when Braden stops by for pack business, or just because he wants to; it’s not hard to see where he fits so easily, with John and Gina, with the kids, who use him as a jungle gym and a pillow and another person for them to rely on, not that they would ever run low on those in the pack, hopefully.

Negotiations are going slower than Braden anticipated, as well. The eastern packs are more or less settled into place, and he hadn’t had to deal much with the sort of political work that make most people grateful they’re not an alpha. Ending a war, however, seems to make up for any peace he’d found among his fellow wolves.

Alex and Nicky—and that’s how it is Alex-and-Nicky—make up for it, as much as someone can make up for hundreds of pages of paperwork from The Commissioner, who seemed half-bent on keeping the war going on his own.

To be fair, they’re not all incredibly productive meetings.

When Braden pulls up outside of nice, small-enough-to-look-exclusive steak house, he suspects this is going to be another one of those nights. Alex and Nicky are already inside, tucked in a nice corner with plenty of space, dressed much nicer than Braden.

“You could have given me a heads-up,” Braden says, sliding in across from them.

Nicky just smiles as Alex responds, “But then what would we do without your rustic charm, Braden?”

“I own suits. Nice suits. Maybe you would have liked that, too,” Braden says, and he tries not to think of the sly comments John as been making—just diversions from his own newly-new relationship.

“I’m positive we would have,” Nicky assures, flagging down a waitress.

There’s red wine—at least for Alex and Braden, he decides against thinking too long about what’s in Nicky’s cup—and bloody steaks and good conversation. Braden knows that he’s a bit of a homebody, that there are people who wouldn’t be satisfied with spending all their time with the same relatively small pack and their families, but Braden is.

But, Alex and Nicky have been—nice. Interesting. Braden learned, while combing over ancient reparation papers, that Alex is a professor at Georgetown, and he’s still young enough for that to be impressive. Nicky had followed him overseas not long after he’d arrived, in vampire time, and had situated himself with another local European family, then taken over their territory when they’d moved back home.

Braden, in turn, talked about the pack he’d left back home, the farm, how massive everything back there had felt, him running, not looking back until it was too late, but how things are good now, too.

The wine has heated Braden’s face by the time they leave—and Braden doesn’t know how he lets that happen with  _ wine— _ Nicky driving back to their shared home, outside the city but not as far as Braden. It’s a nice place. Braden is getting really sick of Alex’s study.

“I don’t know if I can do work tonight,” Braden admits, It’s nearly the new moon again, and he can feel himself getting unfocused, bleary, pliable, lazy. Usually, he tries to stay in on new moons, only doing the bare minimum to make sure his territory is secure before curling up in bed.

Alex and Nicky exchange a look.

“Braden,” Alex starts. “I hope we have not made you think we all work and no play here.”

“No, yeah, totally, you’ve guys have been great. It’s been great,” Braden says, facing heating again beyond his control. “I just, you know. Drank a lot. I think I might just pass out if I have to look at a contract or whatever right now.”

“Can’t have that,” Nicky murmurs, and him and Alex seem to have another intense conversation without words. Alex inhales, and starts again.

“Braden. We are wondering, if maybe you want to put a pause on war games and contracts and whatnot. Do something a little more fun.”

And Braden was already going to agree, gratefully, even before Alex stepped forward and put a hand against the side of his neck, thumb pressing against his beard.

“Oh,” Braden says.  _ “Oh.” _

Alex is smiling, gap and all, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good ‘oh?’”

“I mean,” Braden starts, processing, feeling his blood race a little faster. Behind Alex, he can see Nicky, watching them, that intense look on his face. Braden wants to reach for him, so he does, even as he’s telling Alex, “Well, _ yeah.” _

And Alex kisses him, and he’s so warm against Braden that it’s so so nice to feel Nicky’s cool touch against them, too. 


End file.
